


stars, hide your fires

by solfell



Category: Apocalypse World (Roleplaying Game), Original Work, Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Organized Crime, Smuggling, Space Pirates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-02
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:53:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 6,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22984345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solfell/pseuds/solfell
Summary: Dia Fenn: Twi'lek noble, captain ofLessu's Pride, leader of the Deathrunners smuggling ring, and supplier of juice boxes to the three teenaged jedi running amok on her ship(stories from a star wars hack of the apocalypse world rpg system; cross-posted fromtumblr)
Relationships: Original Character & Original Character
Kudos: 2





	1. Blood

**Author's Note:**

> Stars, hide your fires;  
> Let not light see my black and deep desires.
> 
> _Macbeth_ (1.4.52-3)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a bounty on Paska's head; Dia will deal with that once she takes a shower

Dia sets the vibroblade on the edge of the refresher counter; it slips, clattering into the sink. It leaves a thin line of her blood in its wake. She stares at the blade for a moment or two, then up at herself in the mirror. Rodian blood is splattered across her face and clothes. But she knew that already. Green isn’t a bad color on her, truly, but viscera is a look very few can carry.

On occasion, she’s deeply thankful for having lekku instead of hair. She has no idea how anyone with hair–or fur–manages to clean off all the blood and dirt.

Beneath the bacta patch, the wound in her side palpates with pain, constant as she breathes. She’s had worse stab wounds, ones the left her crawling over permacrete roads, eyes gritty and red, looking for Tovra. Granted, it’s been a year or two since she’s dealt with anything like that. 

Today went rather well, overall, so she gives herself a mental pat on the back.

M4-B6 doesn’t know about the kolto painkillers she keeps here, but what he doesn’t know won’t fry his circuits. She downs the recommended dosage, and uses her overshirt to wipe off the worst of the blood.

“Reckon it’s time to invest in some armor,” she tells her reflection. 

She sheds the rest of her clothes and steps into the shower. The sound of the vibroblade falling into the sink echoes in her head. It’s as if her brain only now is processing the noise–it plays a short, repeated loop of _scrape rattle slide_ even though all she hears right now is the sound of water.

Dia chalks it up to the bloodloss.


	2. Captain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nix is having a rough time and Dia decides to be the mom friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> emetophobia cw

Someone is going to harp on her about this later, but she can’t do nothing. She can’t watch the boy toss and turn, suffering something within his own mind, without trying to help. Her hand is hesitant–more used to the hilt of her sword than the texture of human hair–but she pets his head, brushing her fingers through his hair. 

Her parents are not affectionate people, and her siblings were already busy with their own lives and interests by the time she was born. When she had nightmares, there wasn’t anyone to calm her fear, only nanny droids who were not soft in any capacity.

Dia is brutal when she needs to be. She doesn’t flinch away from a fight, but Paska was right. She cares, and it shows, and that’s a dangerous combination. Trust is thin between her and the jedi. Even so, they are members of her crew. She is their captain. They are under her command and protection.

Nix is a liability, yes, but she won’t condemn him for something beyond his control. Dia’s never been electrocuted before, and she suspects there are many new and uncomfortable experiences she’ll face as long as Nix is on her ship. Tovra is going to throw a fit.

Nix wakes and is both himself and something more than he was–more aware, older, more frightened than before. He’s been scared since they left his homeworld, and who could blame him? Her heart lurches in sympathy when he makes himself sick over whatever he saw in his dreams, his memories. 

In her line of work, she’s seen plenty of people in states like this–horrified by their own past, shaking, crying, unable to stop spiraling into their own thoughts. Dia lifts Nix away from his own vomit and sits with him in the nearest corner of the speeder. His breath is little more than a hiccuping, sobbing mess. When she wraps her arms around his narrow shoulders, he all but collapses against her, crying harder than before.

Dia doesn’t speak. She has no words that could truly help right now. There’s no harm in crying, no matter what some ridiculous jedi code may dictate. 


	3. Bitter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The lieutenant is actually the spy who infiltrated her smuggling ring, revealing them to the Republic; Dia is furious

He strolls towards the door, conversation over, but Dia needs to have the last word.

“Fuck you, Tallav.”

He makes a _tsk_ ing sound. “Now, that’s not really proper language for a lady,” he remarks, that damn smirk sprawling across his face. “Is it?”

It’s a statement thrown out just to needle her. He doesn’t give a shit about the propriety of her actions, and surely knows that she rankles under the weight of her title.

She hated his lieutenant persona, all staid and upright, unbending like the pole shoved up his arse. This roguish spy he’s become? It’s worse. Even with her sword to his throat, he looked completely comfortable, in control and at ease.

Dia has never once felt at ease within her own skin. Being a twi’lek, there’s always someone looking at her, and she knows she’s built all wrong. Not tall enough, not sculpted thin like other twi’leks, but still drawing eyes because she cannot fit the mould.

At least in most situations, she knows who is looking and why. She doesn’t know what Tallav is audience to, and has no means to find out–if she isn’t careful, he has the shadows to step back into, doesn’t he? Dia hasn’t that luxury. No matter what, she is on display.

So, yes, she’s prideful and bitter and childish. She has an attitude problem bigger than the Outer Rim. Will she try to rein that in? No. He drew first blood by infiltrating her organization, and then by giving her up to the Republic. Any help he’s provided since then is worth less than bantha shit.

She should’ve hit him harder.

“I’ve never claimed to be proper or a lady,” she spits back. “Or doesn’t your vast array knowledge include that?”

His bastard smile stays fixed in place. He shrugs, and meanders out of the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun story: they're friends now


	4. Tattoo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just some stuff that happened in the year-ish time jump between the last arc and the current one; Dia and Jospi find some common ground

Tovra doesn’t like it, but she takes the ship back into orbit while Dia and Jien run recon planetside. Before leaving, she puts a heavy hand on Dia’s shoulder and gives Jien a hard look. She says, “You make sure she comes back to us.”

Jien nods. “I understand.”

“I’ll kill you otherwise.”

Jien swallows, but his composure holds. “I wouldn’t expect anything else.”

Tovra seems satisfied by that, and walks backwards up the ramp into the ship. She doesn’t take her eyes of Jien until out of sight.

Dia turns towards him with a sharp smile. “I’m half tempted to go about this in the most reckless way possible. Make your job extra difficult.” She already introduced him to Fedulla the Hutt, and more or less made him the liaison between the ryll mines back home and Fedulla. What more could he possibly want? Her cooperation? This is the first time they’ve gone on a proper mission, just the two of them, and she’s fighting the urge to be a complete and utter shite about it.

“I’d prefer if you didn’t,” he replies. “It would ultimately be bad for the operation.”

“Oh, I am well aware of that,” Dia says. “Despite what you think of me, I am capable of being professional.”

His response is a cocked eyebrow, which says everything his silence does not.

—

In Dia’s professional opinion, the operation is a veritable clusterfuck. However, it’s a clusterfuck that she and Jien survive, in no small part to her skill with a sword and his quick thinking, as well as their combined quickness with words. They got the information they wanted and killed a few truly terrible people in the process. Dia counts that as a win, as messy as it was.

They find respite in a slummy cantina while waiting for Tovra to pick them up. No one else is here, and Dia’s paid off the bartender–no one will bother them.

Jien peels his shirt away from the blaster wound on his side. It’s a grazing wound, but sometimes those are the most painful. His expression is impassive, but his breath hitches, just a bit, at the way his movements pull on damaged skin. Dia has a kolto patch at the ready, and as soon as his shirt is out of the way, she carefully adheres it to the wound. He lets out a sharp sound, almost a hiss, as the kolto jumpstarts the healing process.

Jien shoots her a half-surprised look. “Thanks,” he says. “I could’ve done that myself–”

Dia shakes her head. “I could see it better than you can. And I don’t mind helping. You did take that shot for me.”

“It wouldn’t’ve hit you,” he comments. “You crouched down before they fired.” He pours himself a generous glass of whiskey from the decanter Dia bought at the bar. His hand shakes once, then goes still, flow of alcohol uninterrupted.

Dia takes the decanter once he’s done and drinks straight from it. She makes a face at the burning sensation, then grins. “Corellians sure know their way around liquor.”

Jien lifts his glass, toasting her statement.

“You’re not hurt, are you?” he wonders, eyes skimming her, head to toe.

“Scared that Tovra’s going to take it out of your hide? Perish the thought, I am unscathed. Well, a few bruises perhaps,” she admits. “But nothing out of the ordinary.”

“You worry me more than your bodyguard does.”

“Really?”

“Without you, your entire operation falls apart. You’re the linchpin.”

Dia frowns. “I’m the leader, not the ideological foundation. Every single person under my command believes in our mission. I am not singular.”

Jien shrugs. “Maybe, maybe not. I’d rather not find out, either way.”

They drink in silence; once his glass is empty, they pass the decanter back and forth, trading swigs. Jien doesn’t bother to put his shirt back on; Dia’s eyes map his scars and various tattoos.

“How many of those were your choice?” she wonders. Several of the tattoos are from less-than-reputable organizations, some that have taken heavy hits in the last few years. Dia wonders how closely Jien is connected to any of that.

“The scars or the tattoos?”

“Tattoos, of course.”

“You have any?”

“Maybe, but I asked you first.”

“Most were my choice. Others,” he says and gestures to the one on his chest, that spreads up over his collarbone and shoulder, “Others are just part of the job. Going undercover requires some sacrifice.”

“I imagine so.”

He opens his mouth, as if to say more, but then seems to shake himself. She passes him the decanter, and he nods in thanks.

“You’re quite good at what you do,” Dia says. “I now see how and why you infiltrated my little band of misfits. You seem to understand what we do better than most.”

“What do you mean?”

“Sacrifice, you said. Needing to do whatever it takes to reach a final goal,” she explains. “I deal in spice, something that’s ruined countless lives, and will ruin countless more. I know this, and I’ve weighted the freedom of the people we save against the lives ruined, and I’ve found that equation, though unfortunate, is palatable. You understand that.”

Jien nods. “I do, yeah.”

Dia takes a deep breath in through her nose. “I want to apologize for my words and actions before. I reacted poorly when I found out about your background. I’m hotheaded, and hasty at times.”

He quirks an eyebrow.

Dia rolls her eyes. “Very well, fine. I’m more hasty than not. Regardless, I am sorry. I made the situation far more uncomfortable than it needed to be.”

“You were trying to protect yourself and your people, I understand that,” he replies. “I expected some sort of fallout, but I didn’t realized how much of a guard dog you are.”

“Tovra’s the guard dog.”

“Only because you are.”

“Perhaps,” Dia allows. “She’s been with me since before all of this.” She makes a vague gesture at the vicinity, the situation.

“Before becoming the Emissary?”

“Oh yes.”

“Someday, you’ll have to tell me how you got started with all this,” Jien says.

“Hm. Story for a story?”

He smirks. “I accept those terms.”

Dia grins.

—

Three days later, Jospi is barely on time for his shift on the bridge. Generally, he’s more than punctual, sometimes hanging around long before and after his shifts.

Dia turns away from her console, a playful but biting comment on her tongue. The words dry up, and she blinks–nearly stunned but there aren’t many things that can stun her these days.

Jospi was apparently wearing heavy prosthetics on his face, ones that are now gone. A scar runs across his face, from his chin, across his lips, arching over a cheekbone, and ending after cutting through his eyebrow. It’s a conspicuous scar, from a wound that likely hurt deeply. It’s a wonder he didn’t lose an eye.

“Good morning, Lieutenant,” Dia says. “Good to see you.”

His gaze meets hers; she smiles, and it’s not one of her sharpish or sly smiles. It’s genuine, almost soft; she only really reserves her soft smiles for Nix and the jedi knights. She gives Jospi a slight nod. The discomfort in his expression clears–she hadn’t even realized it was there until it’s gone.

“Captain,” he greets in reply.

Dia turns back to her console; Jospi goes to his workstation.


	5. Risk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dia's true loyalty is to her crew--Rey, Andy, and Nix included.

It’s foolish, but her entire business model is rooted in foolishness. One person should not warrant risking herself and her crew–particularly a person she doesn’t actually know. A person who, even by the masters’ estimations, is not worth the time or effort. 

Still, she ignores her orders and turns around. Because that look in Rey’s eyes reminds her of herself at their age, scrambling for some sense of control or stability. There were few people in her life then, and she would have watched worlds burn in order to keep them safe.

She understands.

And she nearly loses Rey because of her choice. She believed them when they said they’d come back, and she clung to that while she and Nix ran. Then, whiplashed about, they’re spinning right back towards where they left Rey, or maybe where Rey left them. 

Among the rubble and the trees, Nix hones in on Rey’s location. 

They’re alive, holding on like a sliver of light while the sun goes down.

—

Lord Hoth’s reprimands don’t much faze Dia. His tongue isn’t nearly as sharp as her mother’s, or her sister’s. The jedi and the republic should know better than to expect any sort of true loyalty from criminals–particularly criminals with an unrelated agenda. Perhaps if she’d chosen to join the cause, instead of being blackmailed into it, everyone would be a little bit happier.

She suspects no matter what she does, good or bad, it won’t much change Hoth’s opinion of her. After seeing all that she’s seen, her regard for his Army of Light is rather dim. 

Before disembarking from _The Pride_ , she tells Tovra to keep the navicomputer and engines ready. Dia may be foolish and a coward, but she’s alive and she’s made it this far. Dying for anyone beyond her crew is unacceptable. She wasn’t able to save Rain today, but if she can keep the young jedi on her crew safe, then that is a path she is willing to walk.

After Lord Hoth’s dismissal, Andy and Nix split away, stalking off in different directions. For being so supposedly unemotional, they’re both quite good at playing the moody teen. Dia waits a moment or two before she turns to Rey and hugs them tight and quick.

She steps back, but keeps her hands on their arms. “We’ll try to get her back,” she vows.

Rey looks older than they are. Tired, paler than normal. They blink at her, and dissolve into tears. Dia ushers them back onto the ship. She casts a searching glance behind her, ready to glare at any onlookers.

Yes, perhaps her priorities are flawed, skewed, potentially fatal. Even so, if she can keep Rey, Andy, and Nix safe, then maybe they can all somehow stop another child from being lost to the darkness. She is willing to fight for that.

Frankly, she’ll leave all the big-picture nonsense to the jedi masters.


	6. Exile

Tovra’s half asleep, reclined in the pilot’s chair. Her feet are kicked up on the powered-down helm console. She’s a big fan of the recent upgrades Dia made to the _Pride_ , namely the cushy new seating. Hell, Tovra might just spend her nights here instead of heading back to her bunk.

Most of the crew is off-ship, which is normal for when they dock on Ryloth. Many of twi’leks have family or friends in Lessu, Dia included, and the non-twi’leks aren’t keen on passing up the various entertainments the city has to offer.

Right now, it’s just Tovra and Kree on the bridge, though there are a few others still on board. Kree radiates murder—he hates coming to Ryloth because it means he’s relegated to the ship. Dia’s family reacts adversely to his presence, so he stays away for the sake of Dia’s sanity.

Doesn’t mean he likes it, not for one second. Tovra gets it, the place he’s coming from. It’s one thing to watch over Dia out of obligation. It’s something entirely different to actually _care_ about her.

Since Aria’s away, and Kree is more focused on the security systems and weapons, comms fall to Tovra. The comm station crackles softly. Tovra peeks an eye open, curious.

“Tovra, are you there?” Dia sounds like herself—polished tones, commanding and calm—but there’s an edge of _something wrong_ in her words.

Tovra lunges to the comms. “Yeah, Cap. Kree and I are here.”

Behind her, Kree calls out a short affirmative.

There’s a sigh, possibly relief? “Oh good. Please alert the rest of the crew that we will be leaving.”

“Leaving when?”

“As soon as possible. I’ll explain later. Give the crew my apologies.”

Tovra glances over her shoulder. Kree looks just as confused and concerned as she feels. “Gotcha. I’ll let you know when everyone’s back.”

“Please do.” The call crackles, and cuts out.

—

As soon as her shift ends, Tovra goes back to her bunk and changes out of her flight suit. She tries not to sleep in it, even though it’s the most comfortable thing she owns.

The fact that she’s one of the few crew members with her own quarters means she should make an effort. Even if that effort is not sleeping in her work clothes.

After washing her face, she grabs her datapad and flops backwards onto her bed. It’s not the worst place she’s slept, but it’s better than the labyrinthine tunnels beneath Wortan, her home city on Iridonia.

She’d take a safe, narrow bed on a ship over a rocky alcove any day.

Her datapad opens to where she left off—in the middle of a collection of Mon Calamari poetry. Tovra would never, ever admit to reading poetry, let alone the elegant, lyrical poems that the Mon Calamari write. Tovra is brash and crass, but she can still appreciate beauty when she encounters it.

There’s a soft knock on her door. Tovra shuts down her datapad and says, “Yeah?”

“Are you decent? May I come in?” Dia asks.

“I’m not putting on pants, even for you, but sure. You know the passcode.”

There’s a moment of hesitation, then the door slides open. Dia slips inside. She hasn’t changed clothes in the last few hours. It’s the same gown she had on when she rushed onto the ship and ordered a very impromptu departure from Ryloth.

It’s a nice dress, very… Twi’lek-ish. Which means it shows more skin than Dia generally goes for, but whenever she visits home, she tries to match the fashions.

That she hasn’t changed yet sets Tovra on edge. She sits up, sets aside her datapad, and flips the switch on her bedside lamp. Soft, buttery light fills the corner of the room.

“Dia.”

Tovra doesn’t speak fluent Rylothian since she doesn’t have headtails, but she understands it perfectly well. The way Dia’s holding her lekku screams discomfort.

Instead of replying, Dia glances at Tovra, then goes to the wardrobe. She scrounges around for an oversized shirt and shuffles into Tovra’s tiny refresher.

Dia is more like herself when she emerges—not in appearance, but in demeanor. It’s unusual for her to go around dressed-down and without makeup, but Tovra’s room is a safe space.

It’s been years since Dia’s crawled into Tovra’s bed. Before inheriting the Pride, they lived on Ryloth and Dia was… different than she is now.

So, when she crawls under Tovra’s covers now, it’s both familiar and strange. Dia isn’t the bratty, listless young adult that Tovra was hired to guard, and Tovra isn’t the washed up Republic pilot running from a less-than-honorable discharge. They’re better people than they were, but Tovra would never object to having Dia in her bed, regardless of circumstance.

Once Dia’s comfortably settled against Tovra’s side, Tovra grabs her datapad and turns of the desk light. She turns the device on again, and scrolls through the text without reading any of it. She brushes the knuckles of her free hand back and forth against one of Dia’s shoulder. Dia sighs softly, and the tension slowly leaves her body.

Idly, Tovra wonders, “Is it later?”

Dia doesn’t shift. “Pardon me?”

“You said you’d explain later.”

“Oh. Yes. I did.”

“And?”

“You remember Nidan Tarkona?”

Tovra makes a face. “Sure. He’s that simpering idiot who works with your brother.”

“If my parents and siblings had their way, he’d be my simpering idiot of a husband.”

Cold nausea flashes through Tovra. “What.”

Dia pushes herself into a sitting position, expression stormy. Then, she plasters on a fake smile. “Oh, it’s all been sorted, don’t you see? And it’s such a good match! Clan Tarkona is well-established, much like Clan Fenn, and Nidan has truly proven himself as a valuable friend and ally to the family.”

Tovra sits up, too. She throws her datapad aside.

Dia’s on a roll. “And then I can stay at home, in Lessu, near my brother and sister, and Nidan has a home on Coruscant, too, so I can visit my parents whenever I’d like! It’ll be perfect! Everyone so badly wants to see me settled down, and this would help.”

Her hands are shaking; Tovra’s hands cover, engulf Dia’s. It’s easy to forget that, really, Dia is just a single person in an unfathomably large galaxy. Her hands are small, even if her personality and convictions fill every room she enters. 

Tovra’s voice is dangerous and low. “They tried to marry you off?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Didn’t think arranged marriages were common on Ryloth.”

“Among normal people, no. Nobility is always a different, stupider story. It was my sister’s idea, I’m sure. Rao isn’t smart or conniving enough. Oh, but my parents don’t like how much of a loose end I am, I bet they loved Tigone’s plans.”

“You gave ‘em a piece of your mind, right? Two pieces, at least.”

Dia barks out a watery laugh. “I reckon I was three seconds away from starting a physical fight.”

“With your sister?”

“With all of them.” Her expression tears into fierce anger. “And there was Nidan, standing around like—like a brainless goat.”

Tovra snorts. “Don’t insult goats that way. Even dumb ones are okay.”

Dia leans her forehead against the top of Tovra’s hands. “I was so afraid they weren’t going to let me leave.”

“Like anyone can keep you from doing what you want. Besides, you know Kree and I would’ve come in, guns blazing.”

“I hate them, but I don’t want them dead. I don’t want anyone on my crew hurt, either.”

Tovra squeezes her hands, as gentle as she can. “You don’t get to choose that.”

Dia shoots her a bitter look. “Only because you don’t listen to me.”

“I listen plenty, but only when you’re talking sense.”

“I should fire you.” There’s a petulant moue on Dia’s face.

“Most people would.” Tovra smirks. “Most people _have_.”

Dia shakes her head and shoves Tovra back down on the bed. She rearranges them back into the positions they were in before. Tovra scowls and has to wiggle until she can pull her datapad out from where it’s wedged under her hip. This time, when turns the device on, she actually makes some headway.

Dia interrupts. “I can’t go back, can I? They won’t let me go again, not without a fight. Having some measure of control over me is so important to them, I don’t think I can risk returning to Ryloth.

“It struck me strangely when we left, thinking it was my last time doing so. I thought it would make me sadder but it doesn’t. Not yet.”

“I still miss Iridonia sometimes, even if I don’t have a reason to go back. There’s nothing for me except memories,” she explains. “I used to be really broken up about it.”

Dia buries her face deeper into Tovra’s shoulder. “Not anymore?”

“Nah. It gets easier.”

Dia nods. “Good. I’ll keep that in mind.”

She falls asleep soon after. Tovra eventually joins her. 

The next morning, she wakes and Dia is gone. It takes all her strength not to feel disappointed. 


	7. Call

Dia answers the holocomm, but only because it’s Jospi calling.

Without preamble he says, “My sources say you’re on Coruscant.”

If confronted with that statement from anyone else, Dia would be irritated. But since it’s Jospi, she’s more amused than anything else. “Your sources?”

“Whenever the _Pride’_ s ship ID shows up on-planet, I get a ping.”

“You must really miss us. Your sources are correct. I’m taking Andy shopping for her birthday later this week.”

“Would you do me a favor? I need a plus one to Admiral Bynar’s retirement party.”

Dia blinks, wondering if she heard him correctly. “Admiral Bynar as in the same man who helped you blackmail me into the Republic navy during the war?”

“He’s retiring.”

“Hence the retirement party, yes.” Dia taps her chin, mulling over Jospi’s expression. Over holocomm, it’s hard to pick up on his feelings. 

“He isn’t going bring up your history, especially with your service record. Like I said, I just need a plus one.”

Dia picks apart the situation. “Well, any of your conquests would likely do just fine in that capacity, and yet you’re calling me. So, what’s our play? Am I to be typical twi’lek eyecandy, observing but silent? I have an outfit for that. Or do you need me as backup? Who’s his successor? I can threaten anyone you’d like, or cause a scene. I adore doing both. I wonder if my parents will be there–”

“Actually, I’m asking as a friend.”

Dia leans back in her chair. “Ah.”

His lips thin under the weight of his exasperation. “Do you need the promise of threatening someone in order to go to a party?”

“I should actually, but no.”

“Alright–?”

Dia shrugs. “Sure, I’ll go.”

He seems to be typing something on his console, and then Dia’s datapad chimes with a new message. “I’ve sent you the details. Pick you up at seven?”

Dia skims his message before answering. “I refuse to show up too early. Seven-thirty, and we’re going for drinks afterwards.”

He chuckles. “C’mon, Dia. It’s me.” With a final, roguish smile, he ends the call.

She rolls her eyes. She should’ve assumed post-game drinks were part of the plan.


	8. Guard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dia is gay

Dia isn’t truly afraid of facing the White Blade on her own. If they take her, then they take her. If she dies, then she won’t be present for the aftermath, and doesn’t need to worry over it. She doesn’t think she can talk them out of their path--Colo Corrus himself said he was following orders, not asking questions.

The Republic plays a dangerous game, waltzing into Hutt Space as an overt imperialistic presence. If Dia doesn’t make them realize that now, they will learn too late. They may not even be alive to realize their mistake.

She isn’t afraid, truly, until Tovra insists on going with her.

Compared with others she’s known her entire adult life, her relationship with Tovra is different. Her line of work means she has to be careful who she accepts into her inner circle. Her position and family history mean that many, many people have tried to use her to further their own agendas.

Tovra was hired as a bodyguard by Dia’s parents, but made it clear that she was on Dia’s side. Or she tried. Dia was resistant, to say the least, and didn’t believe Tovra’s intentions. It was easier--and more sensible--to believe that Tovra was spying on her for her parents.

Tovra was offered such a position eventually, and had a good laugh before terminating her contract with Clan Fenn and naming Dia her sole employer.

By that point, Dia already trusted Tovra with her life, and more, and wasn’t surprised to hear what she already knew: Tovra is loyal. She’s surefooted and hardworking, confident in what she knows, and willing to let others take the lead while she supports from behind.

Dia isn’t sure why Tovra’s ever cared. She had numerous guards growing up, and none of them tried to know her as a person. None of them would have cared were it not for the money. A job is a job, and Dia respects that.

It never seemed like just a job to Tovra. Though lacking social graces and having little patience for politics, Tovra has always been someone that Dia can rely on, no matter what. When Dia first proposed the idea that eventually grew into the Deathrunners, Tovra was excited. She offered suggestions, asked questions, and in more ways than one, Dia wouldn’t have become anything at all without Tovra’s help.

Dia jokes that she leaves the ship to Kree if she dies, and while that is true, it comes with stipulations. He only gets the ship long enough to fly him home. Once on Kashyyyk, ownership transfers to Tovra. What she does then is up to her--continue on with the Deathrunners, or whatever else.

Until now, Dia always assumed she’d die first. It never quite occurred to her that Tovra is just as mortal as anyone. Forcing Tovra to do anything is quite impossible, and Dia knows better, but she wishes for the first time that Tovra was more like other guards.

She wishes and both Tovra and Kree would put their own lives above hers, but that’s not who they are. If either of them were in a similar situation, Dia would damn well be present.

If she loses Tovra today--it’s unimaginable. Dia doesn’t know what she’d do without her. To a degree, she feels almost as if she’s taken Tovra for granted but if that were the case, surely Tovra would’ve set her straight?

Once the proverbial smoke clears, and the Blade leaves, Dia rounds on Tovra. She grabs at her wrists, and gently brushes her fingers over Tovra’s now-swollen thumb joints. She looks up at Tovra.

“You put them back into place?”

Tovra rolls her eyes. “Can’t hold my gun otherwise.”

Dia nods, and exhales. She squeezes the sides of Tovra’s hands, making sure she doesn’t jostle her thumbs. “You’re not hurt?”

“My thumbs sting like a bitch, but other than that? No.”

Dia bites at her bottom lip a moment. She brings Tovra’s right hand to her face and presses a swift kiss to her knuckles. Then she lets go and says, “Good.”

Tovra is flustered, but doing a valiant job at not showing it. Dia sees more than most, and she’s known Tovra for over fifteen years.

“You’re a sap,” Tovra accuses, chin jutting out.

“Yes, but I’m your sap,” Dia retorts.

Tovra shakes her head and goes to retrieve her blaster. When her back is turned, Kree gives Dia a Look. It’s a look he’s given her before, usually when she’s more transparent about her feelings than usual. It’s a chiding, warning, albeit amused look.

Dia sticks her tongue out at him in response.


	9. Reversal (Maevara)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dia isn't in this one but it's set in the same time/place and i'm not making another whole fic for these rando side characters who aren't actually involved in the game lmao

A tired sigh ruffles its way over the comlink channel. Even without a hologram to accompany the sound, Maevara knows exactly what Kavi looks like right now. Duster jacket hanging open, one hand on his hip, smudge of grease mirroring the clan marking on his right cheek, expression pulled into a grimace, shoulders slumping under the weight of her request.

But needs must–Kavi’s sense echo abilities are better than hers. When it comes to artifact recovery, his help is vital. Also, he can fix anything and isn’t a terrible shot. She wouldn’t want anyone else at her back when studying a new excavation site.

“Kavi,” she starts.

“Don’t ‘Kavi’ me.” He imitates how she says his name when she’s begging but not really begging.

“Mr. Akela, then.”

“Somehow that’s worse.”

Mae treads back and forth in one of the alcoves overlooking the temple’s main hall. It’s early in the morning, before most others are awake. The hour makes for a perfect time to call her contacts that aren’t quite sanctioned by the council.

Stone mosaics and stained glass windows decorate the area below. Mae’s earliest memory was of colored light, splashing down through the ancient glass, breathing brightness into neutral-colored stones.

She’s grateful to whoever decided to preserve them, when the libraries at Ossus were lost. She wouldn’t have thought to preserve them herself, and if the head librarian asked her to tend to them now, she’d object. Art preservation needs better, more caring hands than hers.

“I have limited funds until I find something that catches the council’s attention,” she explains. “I have a nose for these things, you know that. I promise you will be paid appropriately.”

“But not upfront.”

“No, not upfront.”

“I have other work, other jobs,” Kavi says. “You can’t expect me to drop everything on a lark.”

“It’s not a lark. It’s a potential archaeological gold mine.”

Another tired sigh. “Potential.”

“I’ll send you the evidence I’ve gathered.”

“This better be good.”

“Only one way to find out.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He ends the call.

Mind already three steps ahead–calculating how to make her funds last for as long as possible, without skimping on safety measures–she leaves the alcove and immediately runs into something–someone–solid, tall, and… blue?

“Pardon me, Blademaster Suntessi,” Mae says. She gives a short bow in apology. “My mind was elsewhere.”

They’ve never been properly introduced but everyone knows Andesine Suntessi by reputation if nothing else. It figures–initiates who come late to the order seem to make a splash one way or another. Suntessi, as well as her closest friends, are proof of that.

Suntessi smiles, close-lipped, warm, and inclines her head; wayward strands of pale hair slip out from behind her ear. “It’s alright.”

Maevara grins. “Good. It’s not often someone catches me off guard. Excellent work. I’m sorry, I have to–” Mae gestures beyond Suntessi, where she needs to go.

“Oh.” Suntessi takes a swift step to the side. “Sorry, Master–?”

“Maevara Bel. I work in the archives.”

“Master Bel.” The warmth in her slight smile spreads to her voice.

They move in opposite directions. Maevara’s montrals sense a pause in Suntessi’s step; she stops a meter or two behind Mae. Often, Mae doesn’t look when she feels someone behind her–especially if they’re not a threat–but Mae stops, too. She glances over her shoulder, and Suntessi is already looking back at her.

The feeling that rushes through her is both familiar and foreign. Mae’s connection to the greater galaxy isn’t particularly strong, being as detail-oriented as she is, but even she senses when the cosmos quakes.

This is almost like that, but opposite. A reversal.

When she looks at Blademaster Suntessi–really looks, and sees, and _feels_ –there is a quiet alteration in herself. A microcosm of a disturbance in the force, but neither devastating nor destructive. A new breath of air, one she’s never taken before, fills her lungs.

Mae smiles again.


End file.
